Page 60 of Resisting the Temptation
Mamà pulled her into a hug and gushed gratefully about the beautiful peonies she brought. Emma and Cici hit it off immediately. She saw Cici reading on her Kindle when we walked in, and they’ve been talking about books for half an hour. Even Cici’s fiancé, Adam, has engaged in a conversation with her, and he’s very shy.
She gave Mateo a polite greeting when we first got here but has otherwise been ignoring him in favor of Cici.
She’s also ignoring me, but at least I know she’s coming home with me.
Mateo looked a little dejected when she brushed him off, but Mamà told him to keep trying, and I had to bite back a possessive protest. If I know Mamà, she’s already planned to sit them next to each other at the table.
I may havesuggested she’d be more comfortable if I was seated at her other side since she knows me, and Mamàagreed easily, which put me at ease.
Once the antipasto platter is ready, Mamà calls for all of us to sit at the large dining room table. I sit on Emma’s right, Mateo on her left, with Papà at the head of the table, and Mamà, Cici, and Adam opposite us.
We sip on wine and eat the various meats, vegetables, fruits, nuts, and cheeses on the platter while everyone—mostly Mamà—asks Emma a million questions, and I relish the way her cheeks stay a lovely shade of pink at all of the attention.
“Did you grow up in California?”
“No, I grew up in Utah. My best friend’s parents moved us out here shortly after I turned twenty.”
“Oh, I hear Utah is lovely, but I’ve never been. Do you have any siblings?”
“I’m the youngest of ten kids, actually.”
I nearly spit out my wine. “Ten?” I clarify. Everyone else at the table gasps.
Emma pats me gently on the back, chuckling lightly. “Yes. I have a blended family. My mom was married before and had four kids, my dad has five from his previous marriage, and then they got married and had me.”
“Ah, so you’re the glue that holds them together,” Papà teases.
Emma flinches slightly and forces out a laugh. “I guess so.”
“Are you close with your siblings?” Cici asks.
“Not particularly. I see some of them maybe once a year when I visit.”
“Yousee your parents more than once a year though, right?” Mamà looks offended. I find it hard to understand, too. I can’t imagine not seeing Cici, Mateo, or my parents weekly—daily in Papà’s case.
Emma takes a sip of wine, drumming her nails on her thigh. She’s nervous. I hate that I can’t ease her nerves. I want to take her hand and run my thumb along her knuckles. Let her know I’m here for her, that I’ve got her.
“Not usually,” is her vague answer, and Mamà gasps.
“¿Por qué no?Your parents must miss you greatly.”
Emma’s lips try to stay tipped in a pleasant smile, but sadness swirls in the depths of her blue eyes. I get the feeling this is a tough subject for her, dulling her brightness.
“Mamà, I think this might be a personal thing Emma doesn’t want to talk about,” I interject, a little more bite in my tone than necessary.
Emma gives me a small, grateful smile, and Mamà studies me curiously but nods.
“I’m sorry, Emma. I didn’t mean to pry or make you uncomfortable.”
“It’s okay. I wish I had a family as close as yours. Circumstances have just made it virtually impossible for that to happen.”
I want to know the circumstances so badly. I want to know why she’s closer to her childhood friend than any of the people she’s related to. I want to know how they hurt her and how to make it better. I can tell Mamà is itching to know, too, but she keeps her questions to herself.
Conversation shifts to Emma’s schooling, and what made her want to work in construction, and her answers make me feel even worse about the way I treated her when she started at Rossi.
She has a genuine passion for the work we’re doing, and she’s very knowledgeable. It’s no wonder Derek chose to work with her. Papà was right in giving her a chance.
Once we’ve had our fill of the antipasto, Mamàbrings out the main course.
